Tír na Cali has a landing page here on DW and here on LJ.
"It is Nice to Share" is a family quote - a young Lynnie, not allowed ice cream by parental fiat, informed her 8-years-older aunt of that when said aunt very pointedly ate ice cream in front of her.
Thanks to @dahob, @anke and @inventrix for brainstorming powers.
“She’s getting rather old for it, isn’t she?”
Asta gritted her teeth. Did they think she couldn’t hear them?
“Well, my family have always been early bloomers, but I did use a different father for Asta than her sister and brothers,” the Lady Estalla mused. “But he came from a very good bloodline. She should be showing some sort of power by now.”
“It’s more interesting that her companion seems to have developed a power. I wouldn’t have thought it from Rani’s bloodline, but she’s gotten very good at telekinesis lately. Things have been flying all over the place.”
Asta tried to shrink further into her chair. Her slave with the throwaway bloodline, for the throwaway daughter, she got to have powers. But not Asta.
“You know,” her mother pondered, “I’ve noticed that the two kitchen boys Asta’s taken to spending time with – I notice these things, Carrie – they’ve started demonstrating powers as well. And I wouldn’t have thought it of any of them.”
“The one, the black-haired boy – I could have sworn his eyes used to be green,” Carrie, her mother’s chatelaine, murmured. “Austin, is it?”
Asta hid behind her own tea mug. She hadn’t known they’d noticed, but, with no power, she was more comfortable among the staff than around her brothers and sister.
“Do you think…” For the first time Asta could remember, her mother sounded hopeful when talking about her.
“What do you think she’s doing with them?”
The slaves in the warehouse were getting restless. The Lady had been back every three days now for a month, and every time, she’d taken a new slave.
“I’ve heard the Californians eat human flesh,” one of the kidnapped-Americans murmured uncertainly.
“Maybe she’s running a fighting ring,” another one, scrawny and underweight, added.
“She could be starting a harem?” a veteran slave, Californian-born, suggested.
“But why then one at a time?” another veteran added. He had the scars from one bad mistress, and worried more than the Americans, knowing what “bad” could really be.
“Shush, here she comes.”
The Lady Asta hurried in, heels clicking on the cement floor. “That one didn’t work out right, either,” she told the warehouse manager. “Cryokinesis,” she muttered. “Who wants a human freeze ray.”
“I thought the redhead last week had promise,” the manager offered. She wasn’t going to argue with a customer, no, not her, but she was worried, and her merchandise could smell it.
“Aura sight. Not a total waste, but not exactly what I wanted.”
The redhead had been an American. The first veteran frowned at the second. What was she talking about?
“And the dark one before him?”
“He’s intensely charismatic,” the Lady sneered.
“Well, that sounds useful.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, it is. But I was hoping for something a bit more aggressive.”
“Well, perhaps this one, then?” She gestured at the American who thought they ate humans, a tall, buff man, former karate champ. He quailed back against the bars of the cage.
“Hrrm. I’ll give him a try. Wrap him up and send him over.”
“Very good, Lady Asta.” The manager moved to the cage as the Lady left, her murmur under the clicks of the shoes. “Just keep your head down and do what she tells you. You’ll be fine.”
“I think I might have preferred being dinner.”
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